


Macchiatos and Frappuccinos

by DumpsterFireChild (BreakfastLunchAndDinner)



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakfastLunchAndDinner/pseuds/DumpsterFireChild
Summary: When T’Challa told him he could serve out his penance by working for Wakanda, Erik had not expected this.“Here is your apron, your name tag, and if you could put those on, we can get started on learning how to make a basic cappuccino!” the Starbucks representative says brightly, handing him a familiar brown-and-green paper bag. Behind him, Shuri is snickering, and T’Challa, that piece of shit, is trying (but failing) to keep a straight face.Erik sighs, and accepts the mantle of Wakanda’s First Starbucks Barista.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abstract_knight250](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstract_knight250/gifts).



When T’Challa told him he could serve out his penance by working for Wakanda, Erik had not expected this.

“Here is your apron, your name tag, and if you could put those on, we can get started on learning how to make a basic cappuccino!” the Starbucks representative says brightly, handing him a familiar brown-and-green paper bag. Behind him, Shuri is snickering, and T’Challa, that piece of shit, is trying (but failing) to keep a straight face.

Erik sighs, and accepts the mantle of Wakanda’s First Starbucks Barista.

~

Birnin Zana is the world’s wealthiest city by a mile, so real estate in the capital city is really expensive. Starbucks could only afford a tiny store near the university, and only one barista (him). Given the quality of Wakandan coffee and cafes in general, Erik was positive that no one would choose to buy shitty American coffee, and that the shop would close down in two weeks, tops.

But apparently, proving Erik _fucking wrong_ seems to be a trend, because on opening day there is a hundred-person line waiting for him when he gets to work.

Aneka, who was at the very front of the line, snickers.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Erik groused.

“I’m just here to get my daily coffee,” she says innocently.

“Just to get my coffee my ass,” Erik deadpans. “The innocent look don’t go with your bald head, you know?”

“Maybe this is just payback for stabbing me,” she shrugs. “I’ve heard good things about the Pink Drink. Is it any good?”

Erik sighs, and gets to work.

~

Six hours and 75 iced coffees later, Shuri pops up.

“Hello, I’d like a Venti Iced Caramel Macchiato, nonfat, light ice, extra caramel drizzle, extra mocha drizzle, cinnamon powder, cocoa powder, whip, and butterscotch topping,” she dictates, a shit-eating grin on her face.

“So you want this nonfat, but with extra whip?” Erik asks incredulously.

“Yes! And I’m the customer, so I’m always right,” Shuri informs him smugly.

Erik rolls his eyes, and punches in her order. “I really do not get why there are so many people,”: he complains. “Haven’t they gone to Ade’s Coffee before? The coffee there is _fire_ and people are choosing this shit willingly - I can’t believe it, man.”

“Obviously because it’s new,” she points out. “Ade’s has been here since T’Challa went to university, so you can just imagine how long it’s been there.”

“When did he graduate, three years ago? Five?” Erik guesses. Caramel Macchiato - not upside down, nonfat milk, and less ice. He pours in espresso. “What did he study?”

“Three years!” Shuri hoots. “So think T’Challa is _twenty-seven_!? He says he’d stop counting after thirty, but I, however, did not.”

Erik stills. “Wait, what? He’s past thirty?”

“He’s turning thirty-two this year! And he’s still single - even being a King didn’t help him get a girlfriend!” Shuri continues, cackling.

“Man, black don’t crack, huh?” he mutters. He drizzles caramel and mocha syrup onto the drink, and hands it to Shuri. “There ya go, princess.”

“Nonfat milk, light ice?” Shuri grills.

“Yup.”

“Extra caramel and mocha sauce?”

“Yup.”

“Cinnamon powder, cocoa powder, and the butterscotch topping?”

Erik glares at Shuri. “You can see the damn toppings, princess.”

Shuri takes a suspicious sip.

“You’re holding up the line,” he informs her. “You happy with your coffee?”

“It’s passable,” Shuri proclaims, and flounces off without even a goodbye.

Erik grits his teeth. Four hours more until his shift ends - he can make it. He thinks.

~

Three days later, Erik visits T’Challa’s office with some paperwork.

“Erik?” the King asks, looking decidedly un-kingly from where he’s sprawled on the couch. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

Erik tosses the paperwork at T’Challa. “That’s an appeal for my probation.”

T’Challa sits up quickly, looking concerned. “If you felt that your probation time was too long, you should have said something earlier --”

“It’s not that,” Erik interrupts. “I want to go back to jail.”

That shuts T’Challa up.

“Um. I. That is - what?”

“I wanna go back to jail,” Erik repeats. “I don’t wanna have to deal with hipster college kids anymore. If I have to make another damn Frappuccino again, I swear to God -”

T’Challa’s laughter drowns out the rest of Erik’s sentence, and Erik leaves the office disgruntled, but still, unfortunately, a barista.

~

The novelty wears off after the first week, and as Erik predicted, most of the students flock back to Ade’s for their morning coffee fix. It was on that slow Tuesday that Okoye shows up, and Erik feels like he’s plunged into an icy lake before he remembers that no, Okoye isn’t actually allowed to kill him anymore.

She’s not in uniform either, and it’s a bit strange, seeing her in a color other than red.

“One Very Berry Hibiscus Lemonade Refresher, Venti,” she orders.

“One - what? The pink bullshit?” Erik splutters, confused. This is Scary Bald General. She’s supposed to order a double espresso, black, or some other bitter, This-Means-Business™ drink. Not - not pink monstrosities.

Okoye looks murderous. “Your job is to make your customers’ drinks, not judge them, you arrogant brute,” she hisses. “So. Make. My. Drink.”  
“I - okay.” Erik says faintly, nodding. “One Very Berry Hibiscus Lemonade Refresher, in Venti, coming right up.”

~

Finals week at the university comes by, and man, Erik’s shitty Starbucks is _not_ prepared. Lines are forming again, and if he were a lesser man he would’ve broken down and asked the Starbucks reps for additional baristas. Even a cashier would have been helpful.

T’Challa, of course, finds a way to make everything worse.

“Erik!” he greets, affable as always. “Good morning!”

“Good morning, welcome to Starbucks,” he grits out. This is the King of Wakanda, after all, and he’ll be damned if the rep sees the tape and fires him for disrespecting the King. “What can I get you today?”

“Just a black coffee. Blonde roast,” T’Challa requested. “And a cookie, for here, please.”

Erik pours him his coffee in a to-go cup, and wraps up his cookie.

T’Challa looks confused. “I believe I ordered it ‘for here’? Isn’t that the correct American term?”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Erik says, handing T’Challa the to-go cup. “There ain’t anymore seats. Now get out.”

“There are plenty of seats available,” T’Challa points out.

“Yeah, but the tables are already occupied. You -”

Too late. T’Challa had taken his coffee and joined a group of students.

~

Two hours later, Erik is overworked, and his cafe is stuffed with Wakandan students in deep debate with the King. Someone had tweeted that the King was in, and it wasn’t long before Poli Sci students were streaming in, all with questions and demands about T’Challa’s new foreign policy.

There were only three tables! How could the shop even fit so many nerds?!  
~

Because Erik’s probation officer was an asshole, he shows up to Starbucks for their first appointment.

“So, Erik,” he says, a steaming hot cup of matcha in front of him, “how have you been adjusting so far?”

“Terribly,” Erik says automatically. “I’ve hurt so many students, even killed a couple of hipsters. You should lock me up again.”

Adewale fucking laughs at him, the great big ass. “But no, Erik, your Yelp reviews have been stellar, you know!” A swipe at a kimoyo bead, and Erik is astonished to see that yes, he does have a solid 4.9 stars on Yelp.

He didn’t even know Wakanda had Yelp, but well, there it was.

★★★  
_“American coffee is definitely inferior to African varieties, but they certainly excel in making appealing drinks. I had the Pink Drink, and while very sweet, it was delicious. - Aneka”_  
Useful (20)

★★★★★  
_“WARNING: BARISTA HOTTER THAN THE COFFEE.”_

★★★★★  
_“"The barista makes it really fast! You just know that he knows what to do. I had to order 12 drinks for my group study session and he made it all in record time! Would recommend ❤ Bonus: Barista is hot as fuck."_  
Useful (15)

★★★★★  
_“There are rumors that the barista is actually N’Jadaka, the prince who almost killed King T’Challa? Those rumors can’t be true -- Erik is super nice. He let me stay there for a whole day to study for my finals, even if I just ordered one brewed coffee. Five stars for sure.”_

★★★★★  
_“I’d like an order of Erik Stevens in Venti, please?”_

★★★★★  
_“Pro-tip: Order a frappe! So the barista turns around for the blender, and you do NOT want to miss that view. You’re welcome.”_  
Useful (37)

“Is this why I had to make so many fucking frappes???”


	2. Cheesecake and Macarons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets a coworker.

On Monday, Erik gets a call from the Starbucks rep

“Congratulations, Erik!” Jeremy bubbles over the phone. “Your performance has been outstanding, so we’re promoting you to Branch Manager!”

“But I’m the only one working here!” Erik protests. “I ain’t got  _ anyone _ to manage!” 

“Yes you do! Didn’t you say you needed a cashier?”

Suddenly, the bell over the door tinkles. W’Kabi steps in, wearing a brand-new Starbucks apron. 

Erik swears. 

~

“Ain’t you supposed to be in prison or something?” Erik asks. W’Kabi has made himself entirely  _ too _ comfortable behind Erik’s counter, arranging the slices of his banana bread in the glass case. 

“Aren’t you?” W’Kabi shoots back, unperturbed. “I’m on probation now.” He straightens up, serious. “N’Jadaka, you and I have both served our penance for our mistakes. Now there is only one way forward.” He extends a hand to Erik. 

Erik takes it, and is immediately pulled into a bone-crushing, blanketed hug. 

“Aight, then, man. But you gotta do the frappes, okay?” 

~

Apparently, W’Kabi’s way forward does  _ not _ include making Frappuccinos for Erik. That bastard. 

“I am a cashier, not a barista,” W’Kabi informs him, when Erik’s first regular comes by with an order for a tall mocha Frappuccino. “But if you really want help, I can bake.” 

“If  _ you _ really wanted to help, you’d be on these orders, man,” Erik fumes. “At  _ least _ plate up those cookies.” 

The cookies were evidently not up to W’Kabi’s standards, so the next day, a new batch of chocolate-pepper cookies appears suspiciously in the glass case. There was no sign of the chocolate chip cookies Erik had instructed his  _ employee _ to put out. 

“Someone came in to buy them all when you went out for dinner,” W’Kabi says innocently, when Erik asks. 

Someone  _ had  _ bought it all, but Erik would bet a year’s worth of his Wakandan Basic Income that W’Kabi had bought it himself just to bin the stuff. 

~

Whatever W’Kabi’s shortcomings were (his impulsiveness, for example, his willingness to follow random contenders for the throne, for another), his baking was  _ not  _ one of them. 

His mango cheesecake was so good, people were beginning to line up for it at the store again, and it was supposed to be the damned summer break. 

“Man, it was so much easier when your cake wasn’t around,” Erik groans, as another woman orders a whole cheesecake, to go. “I’d go days without anyone walking in!”

“Mhmm,” W’kabi mumbles. He’d been hunched over his tablet all day, instead of you know,  _ doing his job. _

Erik sighs in frustration, and punches in the order himself. The woman leaves with the last of the cheesecake, and Erik puts up the “Cheesecake -- Sold Out” sign that he had found to be effective in repelling pastry-only customers. 

Back at the counter, W’Kabi’s still staring at the tablet. “Whatchu got there, man?” Erik asks passive-aggressively. 

“Okoye, my love, she has yet to forgive me,” W’Kabi hums. “I am researching some American pastry recipes that I can make to convince her to let me move in with her again.”

“She kick you out, huh?” Erik shakes his head. “You  _ did _ try to kill her, dude.” 

W’Kabi looks up, horrified. “I didn’t! Not my love, never! She was supposed to surrender, and join us in your plan to take over the world!” He shakes his head. “That’s done now, though, no use dwelling. Hence, this.” He gestures to his tablet, which was filled with pictures of bright pink desserts. 

Erik looks through the list, unimpressed. “Come on, W’Kabi, you’re gonna need a  _ lot _ more than just a cake for this one.” 

“I know,” W’Kabi despairs. “I’ve tried everything -- apologizing to her face, apologizing by call, text, and letter. I even left her mandaazi, her favorite, and she didn’t even acknowledge it.” 

“You’re doing this all wrong,” Erik says, pulling up wikiHow on his kimoyo beads. 

_ Method 1: Apologizing Through Words _

“You done that, so this ain’t gon’ help,” Erik muses, skipping past it. 

_ Method 2: Apologizing in Different Ways _

Aha! “ _ Leave flowers, chocolates, or stuffed animals at her home or workplace _ .” he reads out loud. “You try giving her this cute shit yet?” 

“Is this really what you Americans do?” W’Kabi asks, considering. 

Erik nods. “Yeah. Gave an ex a puppy once. She took me back, at least until she caught me cheating with her best friend.” 

W’Kabi snorted. “Well, it might have worked, if only you’d  _ followed through _ . I’ll try your American methods. My pet Imani has just given  birth to a young one; perhaps Okoye would enjoy taking care of him.” 

“Yeah, you do that,” Erik agrees. “You could give her some flowers and cake too; overkill won’t hurt at this point.” 

~

The next time Okoye comes in, she has a baby rhino on a leash trailing after her. 

Erik had forgotten that W’Kabi’s pets were, you know,  _ rhinos _ . 

“Whoah, whoah!” Erik yells. “What the fuck is that?”

“My love!” W’Kabi calls out eagerly. “Did you enjoy the macarons?” 

“I came here to return them,” Okoye retorts, dumping the box on the counter. W’Kabi droops, and holds his hand out for the rhino’s leash. Erik panics for a second (where were they going to keep a  _ baby rhino _ in this tiny af Starbucks???), but thankfully, Okoye doesn’t pass it over. 

“Ani and I bonded. But you -” she points at W’Kabi threateningly, “- are still not forgiven.” Then she turns on her heel and leaves, baby rhino bounding after her. 

Erik whistles. “Damn, that was ice cold,” he drawls, already reaching for the macarons. 

~

Eventually, Erik gets used to having someone else in his Sacred Space behind the counter. Sometimes, W’Kabis bulk would even be useful; he’d moved the blenders to the spot behind the counter, so W’Kabi would put him (or more accurately, his butt) out of sight. The volume of Frappuccino orders went down considerably after that. But when the summer term started, store traffic picked up again, and they started getting regulars. 

There were the professors, who were usually just looking for a quick caffeine shot before class. (Ade’s ground their beans fresh for each cup of pour-over coffee; each cup was delicious, but also took way too long, in Erik’s opinion). 

Then there were the students. 

There was Nyla, a tiny freshman who was too shy to make friends yet, and usually spent her time reading thick books over her Iced Vanilla Latte. There was Feye, the PoliSci student who had been responsible for live-tweeting the debates with T’Challa last semester; and there was Tamasha, an over-dramatic engineering major who had a weakness for W’Kabi’s spicy cookies. 

Erik had much preferred his life when his customers would buy their drinks and get out, but, as he had discovered, W’Kabi was  _ chatty _ . 

“I failed my last quiz in Physics again,” Tamasha was telling W’Kabi in rapid Xhosa. W’kabi was nodding along, wrapping up half a dozen cookies for her. “I swear, Professor Azikiwe is the worst! He’s going to fail me, I just  _ know _ it. If I fail I can’t join the exchange Princess Shuri is planning!” 

“I’m sure you won’t, sweetheart,” W’Kabi soothes. “You just need to work harder. Maybe you should get a tutor? Have you joined the Physics club, like I told you to?”

“They couldn’t find someone who matched my schedule,” she gripes, frustrated.

W’Kabi suddenly perks up, and looks at Erik with eyes too scheming for Erik’s liking. “You know, N’Jadaka here studied engineering in America, I’m sure he knows his physics.” 

Erik nearly drops the matcha he was making in alarm. “Yo, leave me out of that, man. I’m just a barista.” 

Tamasha, however, looks at him in awe. “You went to school in America? Is that why your Xhosa is so accented?” 

Erik bristles. He’d worked  _ damn _ hard to polish his Xhosa. “Nah, I was raised in America. That’s why I got the accent. Went to school there too.” 

Tamasha’s eyes widen. “Can you please help me with English? We need to learn, for the exchange program! I  _ really _ want to go to Coachella!” 

“Coachella?!” W’kabi barks. “ _ You _ are supposed to study, young lady! Not -- not whatever Coachella is. Isn’t that some sort of party?” 

“It’s not a party!” Tamasha insists. “It’s an American cultural festival!” 

Erik stares at her. He’s heard this argument before, when Shuri tried to pass it off as a “cultural exchange” to both T’Challa and her mom. The Queen was convinced, but T’Challa had had the foresight to Google it first, and had unfortunately seen the “Girl Makes Out with Tree at Coachella” YouTube video. 

“They perform culturally meaningful music and engage in coming-of-age activities with friends!” 

The only “coming-of-age activities” he’d ever seen in Coachella were the “legal to drink” and “can finally buy drugs” kind of activities. 

“Well, you’re not going if you don’t pass your classes, so you should get studying,” W’Kabi declares. “N’Jadaka will help you.” 

“What?” 

~

The next weekend, Shuri presents him with a ticket to Coachella over family brunch, beaming.

“You’ve been to Coachella before, right, N’Jadaka? Brother allowed me to go, on the condition that he be there to chaperone. You could show us around!” 

Erik sighs. “Design me some earplugs and I  _ might _ think about it.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last for the Starbucks AU, but there will be follow ups. If you have any cafe prompts, or whatever else you may wanna see in the fic, leave it in the comments, I might be able to make it work!

**Author's Note:**

> Because Okoye mentioned "Starbucks" in the new trailer:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iOhzJdDawE&feature=youtu.be
> 
> EDIT: I made a Tumblr. whelp. you can find me at https://bfastlunchdinner4beginners.tumblr.com/ and i swear there will be Content soon


End file.
